Deafening silence

In this deafening silence, my heart beats for you.

A rhythm too loud to hide but I have been hiding it for Long yet shining still. Moments we shared, laughter and tears, traveling together and more. Our connection grew, but I don't speak my mind, not my feelings from the depths of my soul. Fear of losing you, of changing everything from the genuine start of it all — but the weight of these unspoken words keeps me stuck in my own mind trying to find my own thoughts.

Dragged into a furnace of feelings that burns every night my phone rings with your calls, and soothing messages that make my day. There's no word that can truly say it. No language that can capture the depths of my heart. I try to put it into music, sing it to the birds of the sky perhaps, crave it into poetry that only rots in my books. The melody falters, and the words won't come alive just as fine as you are.

I try to paste it into paper, recite it to the silent winds. But the echo still hits me hard, like a double-edged dagger that penetrates into my loosened thoughts. It's like lighting a fire in the desert's darkest night. Where smoke is seen from a yonder, and an enemy would definitely take a Chance.

There are moments I see myself lost in an ocean of my own feelings. Trying to swim out of them is like rowing the Indian ocean or the cold ices of Antarctica. Tell me dear, is it wrong to love you like you want to be loved?. Tell me dear if am wrong to tell you I love you. 

Years together in a close bond, each text from you dear means a wood to this burning fire in my heart.Your love is my rescue in this situation please come rescue me.

©® MZEE MACH 

Will The Stars Remember Us

 Will the stars remember? 

Fragments of the words spread 

upon the moonlight trying to find us

    the old us 

the hands that wrote those tales

carry the weight of memories

all the tales under the twilight 

 ink smudged with longing

whispers of a time 

when silence held meaning

     meaning written in the pupils

the bright love in our eyes

 when love was more than echoes

      fading into a new dawn

Yet the night listens still

gathering pieces of our past

tracing our lost verses 

     the stanzas we wrote 

spotted on the fragile skin

 of the speeding wind

will the stars remember us? 

or are we only shadows in the ink? 

 – blood from our own veins 

If the moon could speak

would it recite our names 

   — our poems 

would the stars dance to the 

rhythm of our hearts

 or has time erased the rhythm

 of our once-bonded souls? 

the wind sings a melody, 

but is it ours to claim?

claim it ! was it truly ours ?

Letter To Death

 

Letter to Death

Dear Death,

You took my grandpa away when I was young,

A fragile soul, unaware of life's dilemma 

I never looked into his eyes, never heard his voice,

Never felt his touch, never knew him once 

You took my grandma away when I was older,

Her passing left an ache that would not grow colder.

You took her in my arms, her final breath I felt,

Leaving me with memories, and a broken heart 

People leave, and we're left to grieve,

Oh! little freaky devil , you are a dungeon 

You cage them in darkness, a tunnel deep

A place where love and light cannot seep.

You reap and sow,never create but destroy,

Take and never give , leaving us in sad joy 

But your worth is questioned, your purpose unsure,

Leaving pain and loneliness, hearts that are pure.

You take the valued, the praised, and the bold,

Without mercy, leaving us to grow old.

But there's a greater power, a true creator 

Who gives and takes, and sees us through.

He lays His hands upon our world,

Embracing the lonely, lifting the victimised 

He feeds the poor, gives to the disabled, and protects,

whatever that has the breath of life

So be who you are, Death, a part of life's design,

But know that there's a greater power, a love divine.

©MZEE MACH

Tell My Story

 Tell my story 

If only I leave —

Leave my city, and in my bed lie still,

Never to let go, in slumber's hold tight

Until my last breath. Do not wake me,

Or sit beside me, weeping.

If only I leave —

Leave and never come back.

Tell my children the stories I've hidden,

All the secrets inside my granaries.

Show them the farthest lines 

where my hoes never reached,

The jungles my weary eyes never beheld

If only I leave —

leave my home and these seedlings 

these germinating seeds 

teach them the mysteries of life

the power to overcome and become 

teach them to be me

Yes— let me be their lamb

in their dark hearts 

If only I leave

My home, and into the wild jungle stray,

Never looking back, never checking 

never seeing how far I've roamed.

Feed my dogs, graze my herds, 

and water my seedlings.

If only I leave —

go far beyond horizons 

and meet my long gone souls

I'd recollect, gather and drink with them 

feast with them and never come back 

so when I go , do not stand —

sit by my side and sing me to sleep 

I am already at peace 

If only i leave 

move far more than visions 

barely show — in my safe heaven 

where my soul shall find peace

what desperation never give

lay me in my cozy domicile 

that place my flesh shall call home

and let me rest — 

rest free in my free zone

©® MZEE MACH 

Letter to the youth: Try Something different

 Try something different

When dawn breaks, the birds sing, and the cock crows. As the sun rises, homes awaken, and people savor in its warm glow. The day unfolds with men gathering under shaded trees, playing cards and dominoes until the shadows fall. As night descends, the moon watches over the trees, and people retire to their beds, lost in slumber. And the cycle repeats.

Try something different.

As sunset approaches, a self-proclaimed leader's eyes widen with greed, clutching bundles of cash. Meanwhile, the people he leads beg for scraps, their children crying from empty stomachs. Desperate mothers forage for food among thorns and bushes. The cycle repeats.

Try something different.

Every evening, the news headlines scream of abducted children, raided cattle, and senseless killings. Unknown gunmen wreak mayhem, leaving destruction and death in their wake. But let's be real – there's no such thing as an "unknown gunman." There are only civilians driven mad by the sweet promises of their masters, who fill their mouths with honey and their hearts with bloodlust.

Try something different.

The sun sets, casting a sad shadow over the world. Each sunrise brings mournful days, and every sunset brings worrisome nights. Wars, massacres, and tribal conflicts perpetuate a cycle of violence. But we must break free.

Try something different.

©® MZEE MACH 

Echoes Of Intoxication: a tale of the traveler

The foetor of his breath was a biting mix of booze, a nightmare that still intoxicates my feelings. As I sit in my cozy domicile, surrounded by the comforting familiarity of family and friends, my mind wanders back to the unsettling encounter. The beautiful serenity of Mother Nature, now an aloof memory, seems like a fugitive dream.

His soul seemed to have been drowned in ethanol a million times before he could really be that I saw . His tattered clothes reeked of its residue. The acerbic smell of whiskey clung to him, a noxious cloud that suffocated my senses. Perhaps, in better days, he had savored the finer bundles and laid a bottle under his pillow before the dawn. But now, his eyes stared out with a haunting, deathly gaze, like a cat choking on its last breath.

The putrid smell emanating from his bag was overwhelming, an ill-scented mix of rot and decay , a rotten egg is far sweeter than the taste of his presence. The air conditioner hummed in the background, a feeble attempt to neutralize the toxic atmosphere. As I struggled to process the scene unfolding before me, my pupils dilated in horror, my mind racing to find a way to escape the suffocating sense of intoxication. 

Yet, I recall the freedom of solo travel, breathtaking moments with Mother Nature's brilliance in the rearview. The River Nile's majesty and vibrant smiles of black children along the roads. The cultural attire, wow !. From Bor to Juba, How amazing! . I had planned to go with Jelly Roll, NF, and Eminem, my musical icons. But the moment was shattered, forever tainted by the haunting scene that still plays in my head as I contemplate traveling solo again tomorrow.

© MZEE MACH 

Masterpiece of pain

 

Masterpiece of Pain

Each night becomes a masterpiece of pain,

Lingering in her broken heart,

Searching for what once was

And what now remains.

She sips memories,

Living the curse of love

In her cozy domicile.

Amidst the shards of broken stars,

She lost it—

A constellation of pain

Still standing tall,

Monumental in its sorrow,

Gazing at its tragic beauty.

The day that mattered most

Is now a memorial

To the one she loved and lost.

Sitting within a canvas of thoughts,

She journeys to unreached cores

Of what was—

A thing that flickered briefly,

Like a storm in autumn winds.

Now it is pain,

Whispering its cruel lines

To her ears,

A reminder of love stolen by time,

Leaving behind—

|| Deep scars,

|| Unhealed wounds,

|| Blurry eyes,

|| And hope // soons.

She gets lost with every blink,

Caught in the mysteries of unreached spaces,

Of love—what was,

And

 what could never be again.

©® MZEE MACH

A poet is a poem

 

A poet is a poem

A beautiful line pregnant with wisdom,

Crafted by the mighty hands of nature.

Birds beg him to sing,

In the middle of the night

And at the dawn of day.

A poet is a poem,

The history that's untold,

Sad tales and fantasies,

Touches of romantic nights,

Of life and madness.

A poet is a poem,

A serenade a lover sings

To her husband,

While watching the dawn star.

He's a lullaby a mother sings to her son,

To lull him to sleep.

A poet is the mournful song,

The ululations and groans of pain,

He's the victory song —

Yes, the trumpet of victory.

© MZEE MACH